


A Cuppa Tea

by SmutWithPlot



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-22
Updated: 2014-12-22
Packaged: 2018-03-02 19:25:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,355
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2823323
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SmutWithPlot/pseuds/SmutWithPlot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He finds himself restless. Tends to happen, one would suppose. When yet another woman has ripped out your heart and stamped it to pieces with betrayal. First Milah, then Cora, and now... Even Belle.</p><p>// Mid-season finale has wife and I in absolute tears. We've made secondary accounts for canon!#Rumbelle (nasty, tasteless thing) and I thought this little solo would do well as a fanfic piece. ENJOY YOUR SOUL CRUSHING FEELS.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Cuppa Tea

It's bitter cold in New York. Not that it's much less freezing in Storybrooke, but that the bustling city streets and skyscrapers are meager, humble homes on the shore. The water keeps the land at a moderate temperature, but the clustered, cloistered city is too far different from home -- the world as a whole, not necessarily any one place -- to be homesick.

And yet, he finds himself restless. Tends to happen, one would suppose. When yet another woman has ripped out your heart and stamped it to pieces with betrayal. First Milah, then Cora, and now... Even Belle.

He thought she would be different. Had dared to love again. And he'd carried a torch for her for so long... Perhaps that was the problem. Even Frank Gold, miser and bitter Scotsman, had his heart crushed by family, and then a lover that betrayed him. Moreof the truth building a lie, in the way life truly works. She'd been the girl that got away, and his heart had pined for her, even if the name and the face was a smidge different in the memory. Coming back from the Curse had been a huge shock. Not only from the whirlwind of centuries of memory, but the _pain_ , the heartache. That loss. Over and again, until he'd lost hope in his ever being happy, and had accepted his role to play, knowing only the obligation as a father to regain the son he'd lost through his own foolish choices...

...He'd thought she would be different. The way she had brushed aside his cruel words and actions. The innocent beauty, the naive trust that had shamed him so, even as she had enraptured him, the sorceror and beast for once the one entranced by something far more powerful than he. True Love, the strongest magick of all. It was the victor and champion for some, but a bitter poison for others.

Arrangements are in the works. All of his new allies had been contacted, and preparations were being made. As for him, he was still wearing the same suit, thrice washed by now, and by his own hand. He had no idea how long this war would last, and what this new wife of his would do with the power she'd so forcibly taken from him. Milah had become a marauder, and Cora a Queen. What lofty goals did the girl who had been a Duke's daughter have?

...Immortality, that was one. He knew that one well enough. Well, she wouldn't have it. Not without paying a high price. But maybe now he'd lead her that way, and let her curse herself in her own way. Pay her back well enough. Cruel, twisted woman.

He finds himself in a tiny cafe. It's a ragtag collection of chairs and artwork with no thought or purpose behind them, much like a child collecting wildflowers with no other intent than to please a parent. The rich, bitter smell of coffee brings to mind a trip to Agrabah far more than Granny's diner. It's been hard to sleep, as of late. His body isn't doing enough work to be physically exhausted -- his weariness is one of the spirit. He thought the pick-me-up could be useful, but as his eyes flit over the menu, he is continually drawn to the tea instead.

He tells himself he'll get anything else. An Americano. Maybe one of those thick, creamy, disgustingly American egg nog lattes. Anything... _anything_  but tea.

And yet, when his name is called, he collects a tall cuppa and he limps to a tiny table in the corner. He swallows, hard. Hands shaking, and inhales the herbal warmth of Earl Grey. He can't even remember if it's two sugars or three. Maybe lemon. Honey? He could never do it right. But Belle... Belle always brewed a _perfect_  cuppa. Even if it was too sweet, it was still better than anything he ever made. He could even jest and say he fell in love with her over tea, and it wouldn't be completely wrong. Something so humble and domestic, and it had stolen him over, little by little. A quiet indulgeance that had become an event all in its own. Stony silence shifted into curious watchings, and then curious conversations, and then deep talks about life and truth and love that he had never anticipated. And he'd found himself falling for her.

But life... and love, is just like tea. And inevitably... it will steep too long and it'll be too bitter and he'll drink it even when it is as strong as coffee and cold as ice. Because that's what he does. He lets things sour and he wallows in it.

His tears are quiet as he weeps in the corner, and more than he can say, his heart is breaking, the only proof he still has one. Even the heartless are better than he, because they can let themselves do what they are told without remorse. It's only the ones in love who are tortured. But he is worse than tortured, he is _cursed_. Cursed to live forever with a broken heart, the broken heart of a hopeless romantic who, despite all sense and reason and experience, still thinks he might find someone -- hopes he might find someone -- who could truly love him. And that had been Belle. Only to be cursed to ruin it. To sabotage everything with his lust for power. Cursed to turn on the woman he loves, until even the most resilient, hopeful, innocent, naive creature is twisted into something as doubtful and fearful and untrusting as he is, until she shoves him away like all the rest had.

His curse is to never be happy, more than anything.

It's in this drunken stupor, drunken on heartache and tears, that he does a foolish thing he'll likely regret, and later on, he'll deny he ever did it. He texts her, even though he's sure she's deleted him from her phone, shut it off to avoid him torturing her, block the number, get a new one. Destroy his only means of contact. He feels a fool when he's finished with it, but it's gone now. Off into the void of nothing.

 

> _I miss you, Belle. You won't believe me, but I loved you. I always have, and I always will. And that's what hurts the most. One day I'll learn... But until then, I'll just keep doing this to myself. But for what it's worth, you were my sweetest heartache. I hope you are happy. But know, I will be back. Not sure how, not sure when. But we will have everything. I meant it when I said that the only path I was interested in was the one where we're together. I'm not perfect. I thought you would save me, but I was asking too much of you, I know that now. Just know that, of all the things I may have lied about, I never lied about how much I love you. Keep the ring, please. I'll be keeping mine._

...He doesn't mention that it's more of a collection, now. His fingers toy with the blue and silver one on his right hand, the one that had been intended for Cora. She still had hers, too, buried on her finger, after he'd killed her, much like he'd killed Milah. He wondered, idly, and with dark curiousity if he would end up bringing about the death of his beloved Belle. The very thought made him shiver, and he set the thought aside.

...He finally collected himself, by which time the tea was only warm, and doubtless too steeped already. He doesn't bother to sweeten it, but walks out, sipping it black. Now, it was just another chore, a heartwrenching reminder, like so many other things. In a way, it invigorates him to do more work, and he grips his cane tight in one hand, the cuppa in the other, and heads back to the shit motel room he's calling headquarters for now.

He _would_  be back. And soon. The question is, what would happen when he got there?


End file.
